Although I have long since renounced Catholic belief systems, having been raised in the faith myself, I frequently wonder how much that early conditioning has fundamentally shaped my own moral compass.
I tend to view human nature a bit differently. While I agree that some individuals are guided by a consistent set of internal moral rules, many simply are not. Broadly speaking, this leaves us with two distinct groups of people when it comes to infidelity. First, there are those whose internal moral framework is genuinely broken or absent, meaning they do not view betrayal as inherently wrong—often as a result of deep-seated trauma, profound insecurity, or pure naivety. Second, there are those who acknowledge that cheating is wrong in principle, yet actively choose not to abide by their own standards, instead relying on self-serving rationalisations, romantic delusions, or simple flaws of character to bridge the gap.
Addressing your query about whether the affair partner is drawn in by the thrill of danger, akin to skydiving, it is worth noting that the affair partner rarely faces severe real-world consequences, particularly if they are single. In workplace affairs, the absolute worst outcome is typically being asked to move departments or, at most, losing a job. If they are married, it may well fracture their own home life, but physical danger remains exceedingly rare. From the thousands of accounts I have read online, I would estimate that fewer than five percent end with the betrayed spouse physically assaulting or directly confronting the affair partner. Beyond a brief verbal telling-off that barely registers, the affair partner usually escapes unscathed. In that sense, skydiving is a remarkably fitting comparison: they get an adrenaline rush knowing that, statistically speaking, they will land safely and face minimal fallout.
As for how affair partners live with themselves, the psychological justifications vary greatly from person to person. Speaking from my own past, when I was sixteen I briefly found myself in the role of the affair partner. While my youth and complete lack of maturity offer context rather than an excuse, my thought process at the time was likely typical of many who enter these dynamics. I convinced myself that we were meant to be together and that she was trapped with someone who was entirely wrong for her. Crucially, I reasoned that I owed her partner nothing because he was not my friend. I seized upon every available excuse to justify an action that was morally abhorrent.
As I matured, I fully grasped the gravity of what I had done, though I still maintain that being the third party—while unquestionably wrong—does not compare to the profound betrayal committed by the wandering spouse, unless, of course, one betrays a friend or family member. In most cases, the third party is not breaking a direct vow or betraying someone to whom they owe explicit loyalty. As a side note, life eventually handed me my own bitter taste of cosmic justice many years later, though by that point the moral lesson had already been deeply ingrained.